


Shift; Shape

by merulanoir



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Bad transitioning methods, Character Study, F/M, Pre-Canon, Trans Male Character, Transitioning, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21884572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merulanoir/pseuds/merulanoir
Summary: Corvo has a truce with his body, but that doesn’t mean anyone else will understand him. As the ship takes him to Dunwall, he prepares for war.
Relationships: Corvo Attano/Jessamine Kaldwin
Comments: 14
Kudos: 69





	Shift; Shape

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is mostly a character study of Corvo Attano as a trans man and his life before DH1 events.
> 
> The way Corvo transitions in this fic is not a good way to do it. Binding can and will hurt you if you do it wrong. Stay safe y'all. 
> 
> Questions regarding the story that you don't want to post in the comments? My dms are open on both [tumblr](https://merulanoir.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/merulanoir). <3

The first time Paloma Attano’s heart breaks is in the month of Wind, in 1804. She’s dressing up her youngest child, when suddenly…

“I don’t want to be a girl.”

Paloma Attano stops trying to wrap the scarf around the child’s neck and stares. Dark eyes look back. Defiant and pleading.

“Do I have to?”

Paloma opens her mouth, but she doesn’t know what to say. Her youngest is just six, all skinny limbs and messy hair, always getting in trouble.

“Mum? Do I have to?” There’s so much in that childish tone, but what connects is the fear; Paloma draws her youngest child closer, into a hug. Hidden from the world, for now.

“You don’t have to be anything.”

Later, there will be troubles and triumphs. But what stays is this.

“You get to choose.”

***

Corvo, that’s the name he picks for himself. It takes Beatrici a few days to remember, to make her mouth form the sharp click in the beginning, the round vowels, the sharp short trill of letter r. She never learned how to pronounce the last one properly, but Corvo doesn’t mind. Beatrici calls him by his chosen name from the beginning, uses the right pronouns, and that tides them over the first months when their parents still struggle.

Beatrici knows their mother is worried. Maybe she’s a little bit sad that Corvo wants to discard the name Paloma Attano chose for him when he was born, but Beatrici resents her mother for laying that on Corvo. Their father stays mostly silent, but a few weeks after Corvo broached the topic Beatrici hears her father talking with a neighbor.

_ My son, _ he says. Beatrici smiles.

Apart from that, nothing really changes. Corvo is as serious as he’s ever been. He often tags along with their father when he leaves for work, and Beatrici knows it’s for her own benefit; their family is poor and school isn’t cheap. Corvo is electing to gives Beatrici that chance. He proves to have a knack for working hard. Most people mistake him for a stupid child, but Beatrici knows better. Corvo is bright, but he guards himself closely. Most people never hear him laugh.

And then their father dies.

It’s such a miserable way to go. Beatrici spends two years trying to make sense of it, but it’s no use. The tragedy makes the fire inside her go from a kindling to a roaring, open flame, because if life can end so quickly, why is she still in Karnaca? Why is she living here, at what feels like the end of the world, when there is a whole world out there?

Leaving isn’t easy. Beatrici is eighteen when she boards a ship bound for Morley. Only Corvo knows the exact date, and he sees her to the docks. It’s an early morning in the month of Clans, and Corvo doesn’t cry as he hugs Beatrici, but she can see how undone he is.

“Take care of mum,” Beatrici says as she blinks back tears. 

“I will,” Corvo promises with the solemnity no twelve year old should possess. There is a fresh bruise on his arm, he’s been getting into fights lately. Beatrici thinks Corvo seeks the trouble out.

“Stop fighting. Go to school, learn your letters. You hear me?” Maybe it’s futile. Corvo has never shown any interest in a formal education.

They hug, until the ship horn sounds, and then there is just water under Beatrici’s feet. She and Corvo watch each other as Karnaca shrinks away. The last thing Beatrici sees is the flyaway hair, a dark smudge against the red glow of the sunrise.

***

Corvo is thirteen, then fourteen, then fifteen. He lives with his mom, who is a seamstress, in the old Batista district. 

Corvo is fourteen when he watches the Blade Verbena and decides that this is what he has been looking for, getting into fights he usually wins out of sheer stubbornness. This is what he has to achieve to get out, to escape the cage of poverty.

He is skinny and nimble, but with each passing day he watches his childhood friends as one by one puberty takes hold of them. He wakes up from nightmares, skin slick with sweat, clawing at his chest. He dreams viciously, hopes, prays, but eventually the day comes when her mother sits him down.

No one has called Corvo by his former name in years, and his mother knows this. She brews them a pot of good tea she usually reserves for guests, and explains things that Corvo fears more than anything. He sits in his chair, hunched over and quiet, but he knows he has to listen to his mother. 

His mother explains what will happen to his body. She says that everyone in their family has been a late bloomer, puberty starting a few years after everyone else; she hopes Corvo will be like that, too. Then she hands him a bundle of sturdy, soft cloth. There is a subtle system of lacing up one side, and when Corvo unfurls it his face catches fire.

“I know you don’t want to think about this,” his mother says quietly. “But eventually you’ll have to. I made this for you, and I want you to take your measurements regularly. You can’t wear it too tight, unless you want to crack your ribs.”

Corvo throws the piece of cloth on the floor and flees, tears burning in his eyes as he tears through the streets. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the high vantage that overlooks the Batista District. There he lets the tears come, hot and choking.

He doesn’t want to grow up into a body that will be wrong. People look at him and see a boy now, but how can he possibly live if that changes?

The next morning, when he finally goes back, Corvo finds the piece of clothing he doesn’t have a name for. It’s been folded and tucked inside the drawer where his underclothes are. Corvo rubs his bloodshot eyes as he kicks the drawer closed.

There is a former soldier, from the time of the Morley insurrection. She’s in hiding, and Corvo only stumbles upon her one day because he is fleeing a gang too big for him to take on. He almost trips over her and then doesn’t have time to apologize. He is caught looking at the woman; in her forties, scarred skin, cropped hair, and curious eyes. One of them is blue, the other one milky white.

Her name is Bronagh Byrne, and she fled Morley after the insurrection. Her unit was blown to bits when they were in Dunwall, fighting their way through the sewers, and what was left fled to Serkonos. Bronagh and her brother, Enda, settled in Karnaca.

Bronagh looks at Corvo and when he turns to leave, she grips his arm. Corvo flinches, but Bronagh doesn’t let go.

“Can you defend yourself, little bird?” She has a curious accent, and Corvo forgets to bristle at the pet name. He stares at Bronagh until she laughs, and then tells him to meet her at the abandoned warehouse the next morning.

Corvo is fourteen when he learns to fight. He doesn’t know why Bronagh chooses to teach him, but it doesn’t matter. The woman is a demanding teacher and she doesn’t ask much in way of payment. Paloma Attano sews her clothes when she has a need for them, once stitches up a gash on his brothers forearm when they can’t afford a doctor. Bronagh puts Corvo through a demanding regimen, and Corvo throws himself into it.

He spends the better part of six months thinking he has Bronagh fooled, but one day the woman sits him down after a particularly harsh session of unarmed fighting.

“You’re not what you look like, are you?”she asks without any preamble, and Corvo freezes. He doesn’t have to wear the binding cloth yet, but his body is changing, he can feel it. Because of the fighting, yes, but in other ways too.

Bronagh appears to know Corvo doesn’t have an answer for her. “I’ve a friend who was like you. Folks called him a girl, but he wasn’t one. He found a way to change his body.”

Later Corvo remembers that moment with painful clarity. Fourteen, huddling in a derelict warehouse with a war criminal, body catching fire with the mere possibility that he wouldn’t have to grow up into a body he couldn’t live in.

A week after that, Bronagh brings him a vial. She teaches him how to inject it, and only years later does Corvo realize how stupidly trusting he was; he stabbed the needle into his thigh with no hesitation, mind inflamed with the tiniest possibility that he could grow up to be a man. 

Bronagh never tells him why she is helping Corvo. He becomes a good fighter, far better than the street kids. Sometimes Bronagh brings over her friends and has Corvo fight them. Some of them are Serkonian, some clearly from Morley, and all of them have a military background and something they can teach to Corvo.

He never finds out where Bronagh lives or what else she does besides teaching him. He meets Enda a few times, but his mentor’s brother doesn’t take a liking to Corvo. Enda teaches him how to disarm people with his bare hands. He looks at Corvo like he knows what he is hiding, but when Corvo confronts Bronagh, she denies telling Enda anything.

“That’s your business, bird boy, not his or mine,” she says, and then tosses Corvo a knife and tells himself to make himself useful.

Bronagh often calls him bird, and it should bother Corvo except it doesn’t. He begins to associate birds with things he likes and admires. Not songbirds, or the flitting hummingbirds though; crows, ravens, jackdaws, intelligent beings that people look at and see death.

Bronagh is watching when Corvo enters the Blade Verbena. He is sixteen and thanks to the serum, his body is growing into that of a young man. The sheer relief of it is enough to make his knees wobbly, even if he has to wear the binding his mother made for him. She sewed a special one for the tourney, a bit looser and with a band that crosses over one shoulder so it doesn’t slip down.

Corvo knows Bronagh is watching, and he fights. He fights with everything he has.

***

Corvo had met Duke Theodanis Abele once before. He knows the duke has a son some years his junior, that the duke himself is well-loved by his people, and that he harbors some resentment against the Dunwall rule.

Nevertheless, when Corvo was called to see the duke he could have never expected to get shipped off to Dunwall like a bag of goods.  _ For the sake of good relations,  _ Theodanis Abele said, with apologetic eyes.

Corvo watches the waves as they trash against the hull of the ship, and his stomach turns again. He is a junior officer, barely eighteen. He’s been fighting pirates off the Serkonian coast for the past two years, and he didn’t think he was afraid any longer. He had his life figured out.

Finding a doctor who would sell him the serum had been harder than Corvo thought; he’d been forced to go for a few months without injections, and he’d actually started to bleed for the first time in four years before he finally succeeded. It was nothing short of traumatic, even as he tried to tell himself it was a wound, just inside his body; his head swam and his hands were shaking when he finally gave himself an injection.

The doctor he had found had been appalled at how he’d been treating himself. Apparently the serum Bronagh had given Corvo was sub par at best, and the irregular rhythm of injections was nothing short of abuse. Corvo kept his mouth shut, because he knew it had been the only way, back then.

Now he’s on a ship, and he knows he has enough serum to last him six months, but that’s not what worries him the most. He’s going to Gristol, to another country. Corvo has no idea what Gristol is like, apart from people calling it smoky and cold, and his stomach turns. He’s scared to death, because he’s been passing as a man for years, managed to fool everyone in the Grand Guard, and now…

Somewhere along the line Corvo reached a point where he didn’t actively hate his body. He recognized that it worked just fine, actually. It allowed him to fight, had no major ailments, and unless he was terribly mistaken his pain tolerance was miles better than some of his friends who had been born male.

He...dislikes looking at his chest. He couldn’t lie about that. He wears the binding cloth every day, even as it sometimes leaves him short of breath and with bruised ribs, because there isn’t an alternative. The pressure around his ribcage is as familiar to him as the sun in the archipelago.

Corvo has a truce with his body, but that doesn’t mean anyone else will understand him. As the ship takes him to Dunwall, he prepares for war.

***

Dunwall is gray. It is rainy, the smell of burning whales hangs over everything, and Corvo hates the city. He is little more than an oddity, a decorative piece in the grand political game played between the emperor and the duke. People treat him with thinly-veiled curiosity or outright hostility. He serves in the Tower Guard, but it’s clear to see his fellow soldiers don’t trust him.

Corvo imagined life lived in stealth was difficult in Karnaca, but Dunwall is worse. He has to share a room with another junior officer in the bunkhouse. His roommate, a man called Walther, is a civil guy, but the forced proximity sets Corvo’s teeth on edge. He used to take off the binder for nights, but now he has no privacy. The duties are arranged in a stupid way that leaves him little time to explore the city, and thus he starts his service by deciding to ration his serum.

Corvo hates Dunwall. He hates the cold and the rain, polluted air, the senior officers who treat him like he’s less because his skin is dark and he speaks with an accent. What’s worse, in Dunwall officers are expected to be able to read; Corvo knows how to read, technically, but in Karnaca he was able to live with his limited skills in understanding the written word. The second his commanding officer realizes Corvo struggles to slog through the texts, he starts to treat him with ridicule and disgust.

And if that’s not enough to make him consider running away, there’s the Abbey of the Everyman. Soldiers are expected to attend sermons every week, and Corvo grows to despise them. The Abbey preaches many things, but Corvo vividly remembers how the overseer smirked at the new recruits from his pulpit when he first arrived. Corvo had been lumped together with the fresh meat at first, to learn the local manners, and among those were several lessons on the Seven Strictures.

“A man is supposed to live as a man, and a woman as a woman. Anything else is an abomination, a disgrace, something to be uprooted and burned.”

The words echo in his head and they spark fear. Corvo has never been caught, but the near misses become much more frequent in Dunwall. He fears, because here in Gristol he doesn’t just face the threat of a dishonorable discharge; no, if he gets caught, he will bring shame to the whole Serkonos.

***

Corvo doesn’t remember how he ends up in the lineup of candidates when crown princess Jessamine is expected to pick her Royal Protector. He thinks his commanding officer must have been behind it; an insult to the person in charge of the applicants, perhaps. Corvo knows he is unpopular in the Tower Guard, simply because he is quiet and solemn. He doesn’t drink, doesn’t laugh, doesn’t say a word if he can help it.

He watches Emperor Euhorn Kaldwin and his daughter Jessamine walk past them and tries to school his features into a mask of stoicism. This is just one more way to be humiliated, he thinks, something he has to bear because he is out of options.

The princess stops in front of him, and it takes Corvo a moment to understand she isn’t looking disgusted or angry. She has gray eyes like her father, and her face is very pretty and serious. Corvo meets her eye a second longer than is polite, and then it’s too late.

“Who are you?” Jessamine asks. “You look like you’re from Serkonos.”

Corvo knows getting singled out means his commanding officer will most likely take it out on him later, but he can’t exactly refuse to answer the future empress, can he?

“Lieutenant Attano of the Tower Guard, your royal highness.” His voice comes out expressionless. 

“Ah, yes,” Emperor Euhorn Kaldwin says with a faint smile as recognition sparks in his eyes. Dread crawls down Corvo’s back. “This is the young man who won the Blade Verbena at the age of sixteen. Duke Theodanis sent him to serve us.”

Jessamine glances at her father and then looks back at Corvo. There is startling intelligence in her eyes, despite her young age.

“I choose him.”

Corvo spends a few blissful seconds thinking Jessamine must mean someone else, but then he sees the princess is looking straight at him, and that the emperor’s eyes have gone wide.

“Jessamine—” he begins, but his daughter whirls around. Her jaw is set.

“I am allowed to choose any of them, am I not?” Jessamine doesn’t bargain. She states her intention like an adult. Corvo’s neck starts to feel hot, because the other candidates, every one of them Gristol-born, are starting to stare at him.

“Yes, you are,” Euhorn Kaldwin says quietly. “But he’s not from here.”

“Does it matter?”

The emperor doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to; Corvo feels the stares pierce his skin like poisoned arrows. He is here only because his captain hates him, wants to make him the laughing stock of his unit, and now…

Jessamine turns around and looks at Corvo with a smile.

“Lieutenant Attano, I hereby choose you to become my Royal Protector.”

Corvo knows what the etiquette calls. It still takes him a few seconds to shake the frozen horror and make his muscles work again. He bends his knee and kneels in front of the girl who will one day become empress, and draws his sword to present it to Jessamine.

“Then it will be my honor to serve you, your royal highness,” Corvo says, the words stumbling around his mouth like sharp chunks of ice. His heart is hammering as he stands up, and even though Jessamine has to look up to meet his eyes, Corvo feels like she towers over him.

“Well, then,” the emperor says under his breath. He clears his throat. “Officer Attano, you will be taken to your quarters immediately to retrieve your belongings. After that you will be taken to Dunwall Tower, where the servants will show you your quarters. You are to report to duty tomorrow morning at seven o’clock. Princess Jessamine will meet you with the captain of the guard.”

Corvo bows, but his head is almost swimming; he numbly follows the royal guard who inclines her head, still feeling the hateful stares of the discarded candidates. 

The stupor barely lifts in time for Corvo to look at the barracks one last time. As he steps in, Walther meets him with a horrified stare.

“What happened? Why did you come back in a royal guard carriage?”

They’re not exactly friends, but Walther has never been hostile. 

“I— She picked me.” Corvo hears how disbelieving and hoarse his voice sound. He knows he doesn’t have a long time, and starts to stuff his meagre personal belongings into a sack. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with the guard-issued items. Maybe he’ll just leave them.

“What?” Walther squeaks. “You’re shitting me, aren’t you?”

Corvo shakes his head. He realizes his hands are shaking. He digs out the small metal box where he stores his serum. He knows without looking that it’s empty. Has been for a month. As if on cue, his lower belly cramps.

“Shit,” Walther says as he collapses onto his own bunk. He looks caught halfway between terrified and incredulous. “You must be the first Royal Protector who’s not Gristolian.”

Corvo doesn’t answer. The crawling terror is getting worse by the minute and he has no idea what to do. His future, which an hour ago was dull and depressing, has been blown to bits. He doesn’t know what to expect.

Suddenly Walther’s face grows so serious Corvo actually stops to look at him properly. The man fidgets and then says, almost in a whisper: “What are you going to tell them?”

Ice settles into Corvo’s belly. There’s another spasm of muscles deep inside him. He doesn’t have to ask what Walther means.

“I won’t tell, I swear,” Walther rushes to add. “Ain’t my fucking business. But you must have a plan, right?”

Corvo wants to laugh. He wants to cry. He wants to run away, except now he can’t because Jessamine Kaldwin, the crown princess of the Empire of the Isles has picked him as her Royal Protector, and come next week his face will be known to everybody.

So he shrugs and tries for a smile. It must come out like a grimace, because Walther’s expression falls. He pats Corvo’s back and wishes him luck. He sounds like he’s wishing Corvo a nice trip to the block.

His captain manages to find him just before Corvo exits the barrack. The man slams him against the wall, smelling of tobacco and sweat. Corvo fights against the impulse to push back and struggles to keep his face blank.

“You fucker,” the man growls. “I don’t know who you bribed and with what, but I swear to the Outsider I will find out. And when I do, you’re out. Your fucking Serkonan head will roll, and you’ll regret not running.”

Corvo looks at him and there and then he knows something; he knows that there will always be more people like Captain Henrik Flood. People who will hate him because his skin is darker, because he is a splendid fighter, because he can’t read to save his life. People who will hate him because they see something they don’t like or understand.

Corvo twists, and in a second the captain stumbles. Corvo slams him to the floor, hand on his windpipe, and for a brief second he allows himself to feel that anger. He’s tired and he’s angry, he’s nineteen and far from home, utterly alone.

“I’ve been fighting scum like you since I was fifteen,” Corvo growls. He bares his teeth. “If you come after me, you won’t live to regret that choice. I swear it.”

Then he lets go and stands up. He dusts his clothes and leaves. He doesn’t hear the captain get up.

***

Dunwall Tower is overwhelming. It takes Corvo a week to memorize the main passages, servant corridors, and most of the doors. He snoops around at night until it occurs to him that this here is his duty. After that he allocates some time each day for inspecting the building, and no one says a word about it.

He is expected to form his own schedule. There are meetings and lessons he is supposed to attend, anything from security briefings to dancing, of all things, but there are hours of free time he has to fill himself, now.

The first problem arises when a valet tries to touch him, and Corvo recoils so hard he knocks over a wash basin. The poor boy is almost in tears, and Corvo lies that he is a soldier and that soldiers are not dressed by valets. The boy doesn’t understand, and each morning Corvo gets to feel bad when he has to kick out one of the servant boys so he can dress by himself.

His binder is getting frayed, but he is terrified of asking for a new one. The days are so full, and once he figures out where and with whom he can spar, even more so. His body takes the toll of stress, and he starts to bleed again. He feels like absolute shit, all the while knowing he should be at his best now, that very soon he is expected to step up to the role of the Royal Protector.

Four weeks into his stay at the Tower, Corvo feels like he is coming apart at the seams. It’s evening and he is alone in his office ( _ my office,  _ he thinks in disbelief,  _ I have a fucking office now _ ) with a stack of reports on his table. 

He had dinner with the emperor and princess Jessamine, and for once he remembered the order in which the forks and spoons were supposed to be used. The emperor knows he comes from a lower class family. He appears, at most, faintly amused and very tolerant of Corvo’s constant stumbling around court etiquette. Princess Jessamine watches him closely, but where Corvo keeps expecting judgement, he sees only curiosity. 

Corvo looks at the stack of reports with a sinking feeling. This is the newest development in his fast-paced training: only this week the spymaster started to load the papers onto his desk, and by now the pile is threatening to topple over. Corvo tried to read through one, but the report was written in cursive, and what little he could read was almost incomprehensible.

Beatrici always prodded Corvo to study more, but it never held his interest. Maybe this will be the thing that finally gets him thrown out on his ass.

A soft knock on the door disturbs him. Corvo opens the door, and on the other side stands an overseer. A chill runs down his spine, despite the fact that the man is rather young, in his mid-thirties maybe, and is smiling. He has blue eyes and dirty blonde hair, and his tanned skin looks very out of place in the Dunwall gloom. Corvo recognizes him from the sermons.

“Lord Attano?”

Corvo thinks he will never get used to being called “lord.” He doesn’t want to.

“Yes?”

“I am overseer Markus Greenlaw. May I come in?”

Corvo wants to say no, the Abbey lectures still fresh in his mind, but he nudges the door open and gestures for the overseer to enter. The man looks around with open curiosity and then takes a seat in front of Corvo’s desk.

“How can I help you?” Corvo asks. He doesn’t sit down, but rather opts for crossing his arms and leaning against the desk. His lower belly is hurting tonight and the bleeding hasn’t shown any sign of stopping. It makes him aware of his body in a supremely uncomfortable way.

“I was asked to pay you a visit, sir,” Overseer Markus says. He gives Corvo another smile. “The Abbey received word that the new Royal Protector is from Serkonos and, as you surely know, the Abbey’s foothold in the southern isles isn’t as strong as we wish. The High Overseer himself is interested in your faith, to be honest.”

Corvo takes a moment to breathe in and out, slowly. By now he knows there have been both men and women serving as Royal Protectors in the past, but he is different; he is a man, and the world will never acknowledge that. The Abbey would love nothing more than to expose a heretic like him.

“I’m...not exactly familiar with the Abbey,” Corvo finally says. Overseer Markus nods.

“As we expected. The High Overseer tasked me to visit you, because I have spent time in Serkonos. Think of this as a, well… A gesture of good will, perhaps?”

Something about Markus nags at Corvo, and he can’t put his finger on why. His manner is too uncomplicated, his smile too easy. All the overseers Corvo has met up until now have had their heads so far up their asses it’s a wonder they manage to see around themselves.

When Corvo doesn’t answer, Markus purses his lips. For a moment, he looks much younger.

“For example,” he rallies, producing a book Corvo recognizes as The Litany of the White Cliff, “if you take a look at what Templeton says here, I’m sure we can agree that the faith systems of Gristol and Serkonos share many features.

Markus stands up, steps closer, and presents the book to Corvo. As if in a dream, Corvo takes the book. He looks at a passage that has been carefully underlined. The words swim, and even if he could bring himself to read, he surely wouldn’t understand a thing.

Markus watches him, and then he does something that surprises Corvo. He picks the book up from Corvo’s slack fingers and gives his arm a squeeze. 

“If I may be blunt, Lord Protector?”

Corvo nods. Dread is once again crawling up and down his spine. His belly hurts like something is stuck in a vice, he hasn’t been sleeping properly. His nerves are shot.

“It looks like you have some trouble reading,” Markus says quietly, not letting go of Corvo’s arm. “I promise, I haven’t been spying on you, but I noticed that during the court sermons you never look at the holy texts.”

Corvo shakes his head, numbly. Markus smiles.

“It’s not anything to be ashamed of. If you want, I can help you.”

“What?” Corvo looks up, sharply. Despite how short a time he has spent at the Tower, he knows he is supposed to be loyal to the emperor and the princess; is the overseer trying to find a foothold on his climb towards the top?

“I have been doing missionary work during my time in Serkonos,” Markus rushes to explain. “I taught people, mostly children, but older folks too.”

“Why would you want to help me?” Corvo asks. He wants to take the words back immediately; they’re as good as confessing that he is almost illiterate by the Dunwall standards. For a while, he doesn’t feel like the prospective Royal Protector at all. He is barely twenty, his body hurts, and he is so far away from home.

Markus looks away. He fiddles with his sleeve and then sighs. “I wanted to become a teacher, truth be told. My mother pushed me to the Abbey, and… Well, I wanted to please her, back then. This probably doesn’t interest you, sir, but… I enjoyed my time in Serkonos. I like teaching. And you look like you could use some help.”

Markus meets his gaze, and suddenly he looks just as sad and tired as Corvo feels. Corvo realizes that during the year and a half he has spent in Dunwall, he has started to assume the worst about everyone.

It’s a simple observation, but it flies through his head and leaves a mess in its wake. Corvo knows he has never been an optimist, but this cold cynicism tastes like Gristol, like Wrenhaven water and those awful river krusts, like rain and cold and everything he hates.

Corvo manages a tiny nod. Markus smiles again, and they agree on a time to meet properly.

It takes Corvo much less time than he expected to pick up the cursive and start to understand the reports, in the end. Markus is a splendid teacher, and the longer they know each other, the more Corvo thinks how wasted a man like him is as an overseer.

Markus Greenlaw is the first friend Corvo makes in Dunwall.

***

Corvo hears tales about Anton Sokolov well before he ever meets the man. The man is famous throughout the Isles, and Corvo sees him in passing at court when he attends sessions by Jessamine’s side. He’s been staying at the Dunwall Tower for months by then, and it feels like things are settling down a bit.

He has struck up a routine that suits him. He spends most of his time by Jessamine’s side, attending her lessons and seeing to her safety. Corvo suspects that the emperor specifically arranged him to sit through all the politics and language lessons with his daughter, because he learns at least as much as Jessamine. He isn’t supposed to ever wield political power, but he has to understand it, that much is becoming clear.

He meets Markus twice a week, and they alternate between the studying and general chatting. Corvo hears through the grapevine that the official consensus in the Abbey is that overseer Markus is taking it upon himself to preach the gospel to the savage Royal Protector; a task, if the gossiping guards is to be believed, is not looked upon with any measure of jealousy.

Corvo keeps expecting Markus to start prying about politics, but he never does. He remains polite, despite shedding the formality; the Strictures or the Litany are never brought up, apart from general discussions about practical matters. Markus quickly becomes a friend.

Anton Sokolov is nothing like Markus Greenlaw.

Corvo returns to his quarters one evening, and the physician is waiting for him there. He looks like a gargoyle in the light of the single desk lamp, and Corvo forces himself to loosen his grip around the hilt of his sword. He has just seen Jessamine to her bedroom, and his disturbed privacy rattles him.

“So you’re the new Royal Protector,” Sokolov says when Corvo refuses to budge from the doorstep or say anything. “Close the damn door, will you.”

It’s not a question, and after some hesitation Corvo obeys. He is becoming more and more familiar with the way things work at the Tower, and this doesn’t fit any pattern. He didn’t even know Sokolov was present.

The man finally stops puttering about the bookshelf and pins his startling gaze on Corvo. His hair and beard look wild and unkempt, and Corvo struggles to believe this man is the famous painter and inventor everyone speaks so highly about. They haven’t officially met, but as Sokolov scrutinizes him Corvo gets a nasty feeling the Tyvian knows more about him than he lets on.

“Corvo Attano, born in 1798,” Sokolov says slowly, as if to confirm Corvo’s apprehension. “From Karnaca, Serkonos.”

Corvo gives him a curt nod and finally steps closer. He forces himself to relax.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get in?”

Sokolov snorts. “You might consider getting an actual lock to your doors,  _ Lord Protector. _ ” The way he pronounces the words make them sound like a taunt. Corvo doesn’t like to be called “lord,” but there and then he gets an intense wish to become worth the title. If only to spite this ass of a man.

“Fine,” he grunts. “What do you want?”

“Your family,” Sokolov says, catching Corvo off-guard  _ again.  _ “Father Nicolò Attano, died years ago in an accident. Mother Paloma Attano, died last year.” He looks Corvo in the eye, as if looking for a reaction.

Corvo stares back. He’d received the news of his mother’s death when he was at the tower guard. He still hasn’t had time to mourn her, not properly.

“Sister Beatrici Attano, emigrated to Morley,” Sokolov finishes. “Your family history isn’t anything remarkable, yet here you are.  _ Lord Corvo Attano. _ ”

Corvo has no idea where this is going. He doesn’t like Sokolov and the man appears to dislike him right back. Why else would he list these details like evidence of some crime?

A silence falls, stifling. Corvo refuses to say anything or look away, and Sokolov meets his glare with what looks like half a smile. There is something frightening in his washed out blue eyes; clever, but malicious as well.

Finally Sokolov lets out a chuckle. He leans against the bookshelf and cocks his head. It looks like a challenge. 

“Your birth certificate doesn’t exist.”

Corvo knows his eyes betray something. He doesn’t know what, because right then a dull hissing noise takes over his head.

Corvo had seen to his original birth certificate. He had spent months working up to it, because those papers were stored at the city hall. He’d managed to erase the last proof of his birth as something else than he claims to be, but he never had the time to forge a new one. Not a week after his success, he’d been called to meet the duke.

Anton Sokolov sighs. “That gives rise to a host of intriguing options, as to your origin.” He doesn’t sound intrigued. If anything, he gives off every appearance of being immensely bored with Corvo, save for the fact that his eyes remain keen and sharp.

Corvo coughs and finally thaws. “As you said, I’m lower class. City officials didn’t pay us much mind.” It’s the explanation he has given every time the missing papers came into light, and it works because it’s so close to being true. Many of his childhood friends lacked any official documentation that they existed.

Sokolov hums, as if agreeing. He stands up straight and stalks closer. Corvo can smell a curious mix of expensive brandy and sharp chemicals on the man.

“I am many things, Attano, but stupid or blind? No. I know what you’re hiding.”

For a second Corvo thinks of is Captain Flood and how he dealt with him. He knows in his bones that the same won’t work on Anton Sokolov. 

It doesn’t even occur to Corvo to question the truth of Sokolov’s statement, because as he speaks the words, his eyes flick to Corvo’s chest, to his hips, and then back to his face. It’s not even a rude gaze, exactly. It feels clinical. That does nothing to stem the flood of panicky feelings that threaten to overtake Corvo there and then.

Sokolov snorts. “You have no poker face, Attano. You might want to work on that.” He gestures at Corvo. “You’ve been on hormonal serum since your teens, unless I’m terribly mistaken. I have been watching you, and based on that I’d say you ran out of serum months ago, and have been unable to acquire more. Am I correct?”

Corvo stares at him. His mind is consumed by a shrill alarm which makes thinking difficult. Is this how it ends?

“What the fuck do you mean?” he asks, trying to sound cold and hostile. He fails. His voice sounds scared.

Sokolov rolls his eyes. “You wear some kind of a binder to hide your chest. It must be in bad shape, because you have a cracked rib that hampers your breathing at this very moment. Your hips are just slightly wider than is usual for a man. You sometimes press your hand against your lower abdomen like you’re in pain, and your laryngeal prominence is practically nonexistent.”

The whole thing is delivered in a cold, detached voice, but it feels like being stuck under a spotlight. Corvo realizes he shrinks back, hunches his shoulders, and he can’t stop. His heart is beating too fast.

He hasn’t been able to find more serum. He has been bleeding almost nonstop for a full month, and his moods have been all over the place as a result. He looks at Sokolov and it must be clear he’s terrified. 

The man’s cool expression turns baffled.

“You think I’m going to expose you,” Sokolov says. He looks torn between annoyance and amusement. “You’re quick to jump to conclusions, Attano. Another thing to keep an eye on. No, in fact I want to help you.”

“What?” Corvo croaks. The tension breaks, and he feels too young to be standing in the boots he occupies. 

Sokolov nods. “I’m a physician, as you’ll probably recall once you stop panicking like a damned child. I can get you serum.”

Corvo blinks. He doesn’t dare to believe what he’s hearing. Sokolov ignores his gaping.

“I can keep an eye on your health, in secret. I can come and go as I please in the Tower, and setting up a clinic of sorts won’t be difficult.” 

“Why?” Corvo blurts out, cutting off Sokolov. The man frowns at him. “Why the fuck do you care?”

“Ah.” Sokolov looks like he wants to roll his eyes again. “I don’t.”

He heaves a sigh that tells anyone within a three-kilometer radius how he must suffer, having to explain himself to a mere mortal like Corvo. “I have never encountered an individual with your...condition, let’s call it. I am interested in seeing how your physique has been altered by the regular administration of the hormone serum.”

“You want to experiment on me?” Corvo frowns. The panic is mostly gone, and he steps on the hope that tries to raise its head; things are rarely too good to be true, there’s always a catch.

“Yes.” Sokolov says it easily, like he isn’t even remotely ashamed to admit it. Corvo stares at him.

“You can’t wear that binding contraption your whole life,” Sokolov says when Corvo stays quiet. “Surely you don’t want to.”

The hope is too much. Corvo tries to ignore it, but the mere thought that he wouldn’t have to bind, that he could look at his chest without nausea; it makes his head swim. To his horror, his throat threatens to close up.

That is when Sokolov loses patience with him.

“You will get a dose of serum tomorrow morning. I will send my assistant to draw your blood next week.”

With that, he is gone. The door swings shut on oiled hinges, and the lock clicks.

***

Jessamine Kaldwin is the most intelligent person Corvo has ever met. True, he might be biased simply because he spends the vast majority of his waking hours with her, but he is inclined to disagree. Princess Jessamine has a sharp mind and a kind heart, and Corvo grows to admire her in the months that follow his rocky start as the Royal Protector.

He has been following Jessamine like a shadow for nine months when the empress dies in childbirth. The court has been abuzz with the expected princess or prince, and the shadow cast by the death of Beatrix Blayne Kaldwin engulfs Dunwall.

Corvo has attempted to keep his distance from Jessamine. They have to share their time and space, but he is her protector; they are not, in any possible way, equals. Jessamine doesn’t give this much thought, Corvo has come to see. What matters is that Jessamine cares for Corvo, and he is growing to care for her, apart from his duties as Lord Protector.

When her mother dies, Corvo’s heart hurts. He doesn’t mourn the empress, but sadness weighs him down when he sees Jessamine choke back tears. The city and the empire won’t stop running, and Corvo sees both the emperor and his heir deal with their grief in a way that looks utterly alien to him.

In Serkonos, funerals were an occasion to gather together; reminiscing about the good times, crying until the tears ran out, and then reminding each other that life goes on. Jessamine doesn’t get that. Her duties become more demanding in the days leading up to the funeral, until Corvo fears she might crack.

The funeral is a magnificent affair. The empress is to be laid to rest in the family crypt, and the religious ceremony preceding her final voyage drags on and on, the High Overseer’s voice drifting in and out of focus. Corvo doesn’t pay it any mind. He listens to Jessamine as she fights against the tears. She’s thirteen, and Corvo if anyone knows how much it hurts to lose your parent when you’re still a child.

Corvo is dressed up in a heavy, ceremonial coat. Its folds cascade around him in a truly inconvenient manner, and he is just trying to imagine ways in which to toss the clothing if he is forced to fight, when something happens. Cold, slender fingers reach for his hand and then wrap around it. Corvo doesn’t turn to look.

Jessamine bites back another whimper, but at the corner of his eyes Corvo sees the tears as they start to fall. Her fingers tremble where they squeeze Corvo’s much warmer hand. He hesitates, and then winds their fingers together.

They’re not close. They spend all their time together, but Corvo is a servant tasked with protecting her life. Jessamine will be empress one day, and hopefully that is still far in the distant future. But Corvo doesn’t have the heart to shake her off, so he holds her hand through the dragging ceremony, and when they step out Jessamine’s eyes are red but she is composed once again.

The day lasts longer than the entire Month of Ice. By the time Corvo walks the princess to her suite, his feet are aching and his head feels dull. He opens the door, checks the room as he always does, and then he turns to leave.

“Corvo?”

Corvo stops and turns around, and meets Jessamine’s exhausted eyes. She has shucked her heavy, black cloak to the floor, and she looks almost painfully thin in her long tunic.

She has never called him  _ Corvo _ before.

“Your highness?”

Jessamine chews on her lip, but then appears to decide something.

“Could you stay?”

Corvo blinks. He opens his mouth, but he has no idea what to say. Jessamine must see how lost he is, for she rushes to explain:

“Just for a moment. I don’t— I don’t want to be alone.”

Corvo feels that old pain, the one he felt when his father died, when he heard his mother had died. Jessamine is not alone in the world, but at that moment she must feel like it. Corvo knows Euhorn Kaldwin loves his daughter, but it is a different love than what Corvo received when he was young. Jessamine is his  _ heir. _ It’s different, and Corvo doesn’t even pretend to understand how.

“Sure.” It’s informal, but Jessamine’s miserable expression lightens up minutely. 

Corvo stands in the main bedroom as she dresses for bed, and then joins her as she clambers under the thick comforters. Even as a child of thirteen, there are no toys in her quarters, apart from an old doll that looks well-loved. It sits atop her dresser.

Corvo sits on the edge of the bed, very carefully, and Jessamine must see how lost he still is.

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out. Her cheeks grow red. “I’m acting like a child, I know.” Her voice is so small and pained, and Corvo’s heart aches for her.

He knows he is overstepping, but he scoots just a bit closer and pulls Jessamine against his side. Beatrici used to hold him like this after their father died, when their mother was too deep in her own grief to pay them any mind. Jessamine looks at him with wide eyes.

Corvo waits, and then she presses against his side. The duvet bunches up, and Corvo reaches to adjust it, until they can both lie comfortably. Jessamine’s long black hair is open and it tickles his nose. 

“It hurts, I know,” Corvo murmurs to her. Jessamine’s breath hitches.

“Where are your parents, Corvo?” she asks. Her face is half-buried into the front of Corvo’s thick, woollen tunic.

Corvo sighs and reaches to stroke her hair. “They’re both dead.”

Jessamine cranes her head up and looks at him. She looks so sad, like Corvo’s pain is hers, too, and Corvo mentally kicks himself. This is not about him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but Jessamine interrupts him.

“Do you have any family at all?” she asks, brows furrowed. She looks—alarmed, like it’s unimaginable that someone should walk through this life with no one to call kin.

“A sister. Older than me,” he says, trying to swallow back that pain, because despite understanding Beatrici he hurts with the force of missing her. Still, after all these years, he remembers being twelve and watching the ship take her away.

“What’s her name? Where is she?”

“Morley, I think,” Corvo says. He sighs. “Her name is Beatrici.”

Jessamine looks at him, and a sad sort of understanding unfurls in her gaze. “You don’t have a family.”

Corvo shrugs, as well as he can with the crown princess of the empire huddled against his side. He manages a small smile.

“Not really, not anymore.”

“I’m so sorry.” Jessamine finally leans back against him. Corvo resumes stroking her hair, because he wants to comfort her, despite everything.

“Could you—” Jessamine whispers, and then doesn’t continue. Corvo waits, and then he realizes she is crying and trying to hide it.

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs, tugging out a handkerchief and gently dabbing her face. “Is something wrong?”

Jessamine fights against the flood, but Corvo sees, like in slow motion, as the dam finally breaks. Jessamine’s face crumbles, and then all he can do is hug her, hold her as she sobs. She cries exactly like Corvo cried when he lost his father, like he wanted to cry when he learned his mother was dead. Like he cried when Beatrici left. 

It goes on for a long time, but gradually Jessamine calms down. Corvo keeps holding her, because it’s the best he can do. He swore to protect her, and maybe this falls under that as well.

“What did you want to ask?” Corvo asks when her breathing evens out. Her thin body grows heavy with exhaustion.

“It’s a bit stupid,” Jessamine mumbles into his tunic. 

“I don’t mind,” Corvo promises with a faint laugh. The sound of it makes a ghost a smile appear on her face.

“Could you tell me about Karnaca?  _ Your  _ Karnaca. I only hear what the nobles tell me when they teach me.”

Corvo considers this, and then he finds himself settling more comfortably onto the bed. He starts talking, voice slow and thoughtful, and in his mind he walks Jessamine through the Campo Seta dockyard, through the Batista District, even down into the silver mines where he once got to visit. It fills him with longing, but at the same time it heals something that has been bleeding the whole time he has spent in Dunwall.

Jessamine listens, sometimes asking a question, and Corvo talks to her. He tells her about the summer heat, about the way people laugh and speak, how they fish and mine and barter. He talks a little about Beatrici and his mother, and when his voice catches Jessamine takes his hand without saying a word.

“You sound like you miss it all,” she says when she starts to fall asleep. Corvo makes a noncommittal sound, because what else is there to say? There is nothing for him in Karnaca anymore.

“I’m sorry you got sent here, but I’m glad you’re with me now.” The words come heavy with sleep, and Corvo blinks against the darkness as Jessamine finally falls asleep.

***

Corvo grows to dislike Sokolov. He feels conflicted about this, because the man is helping him, but at the same time he keeps treating Corvo like a...curiosity, like he sometimes forgets Corvo is a human being. His gaze is always clinical when they meet, and sometimes he refers to Corvo’s anatomy like slabs of meat.

Still, for the first time in his life Corvo has access to a steady supply of top-quality serum. He never once bleeds after that harrowing first month at the Tower, and he feels much better as his body settles into adulthood. A bit later than most, but it was a destination he never expected to reach at all. No one is able to tell he is hiding something, Sokolov takes care of all his needs in that regard.

Sometimes Corvo wonders whether the man will someday use this leverage to blackmail him, but each time he is forced to yield to his poking and prodding, Sokolov looks less and less interested in him; his career is shooting towards the skies, and dealing with Corvo doesn’t hold his interest as much as it did.

Still, when Sokolov brings up the possibility of surgically modifying Corvo’s chest, his eyes glint in that dangerous way he has, and for a short moment Corvo almost declines. He has grown into his body, but his duty is the most important thing; Jessamine is 15, she is growing up so fierce and beautiful, and if something happens to her while Corvo recovers from the surgery he will not forgive himself.

Sokolov, once again, reads him like an open book. The man scoffs.

“Princess Jessamine will attend a ceremonial retreat next month. It is hosted by the Blind Sisters of The Oracular Order, and no matter how much you want to watch her every step, the Sisters will not let a man enter their sanctum.”

Corvo wants to argue, but he knows Sokolov has a point. Void, Corvo himself has been in charge of training the female guards who will accompany Jessamine to the retreat. It will last an entire week, and Corvo knows it’s most likely his only chance for this. He chews his lip bloody, but in the end he bends to Sokolov’s will.

Something goes wrong.

Corvo’s empty stomach turns like he has eaten snakes when he is put under. He is more afraid than he ever remembers being, and the last thing he sees is Anton Sokolov’s keen, greedy expression. Then everything goes dark.

It feels like he sleeps much longer than he should. At one point he registers feeling feverish, like his entire body is on fire. Then he must pass out again.

When he finally wakes up properly, it is to the Dunwall Tower hospital. It’s late at night, if the light is to be trusted. Corvo blinks open eyes that feel like there is sand in them, and then he almost whimpers; his chest is covered in bandages and it hurts. He doesn’t dare to touch it.

It takes a long while, but finally a nurse walks by, and at Corvo’s desperate request, goes to find Sokolov. His assistant wanders into the ward an hour later, clearly irritated from being woken up. He informs Corvo that there was a “complication” during the surgery, and that he has been asleep for two days. Before Corvo can object, the young man injects him with something, and he falls back asleep.

The next week is horrible. Sokolov finally deigns to visit him the following morning, and he confirms what his assistant said; Corvo had a reaction to something they used to anesthetize him with. Sokolov’s initial plan had to scrapped, and he “made do,” as he informs Corvo. Corvo tries to think of what he needs to ask, but he is at a loss. 

Jessamine returns from the retreat, and she is clearly curious when Corvo is still in visible pain. Sokolov lies to her, spinning a tale of a benign tumor that he had to cut off, and Corvo would laugh if he wasn’t so miserable.

His chest— Well. It’s certainly flatter than it used to be. When he is finally allowed to remove the bandages and the drains come off, he spends a long while looking at himself in the full-body mirror in his quarters.

Two scars stretch across his chest, where the excess tissue was scraped off. And it looks like Sokolov did just that; the scars are angry red, and Corvo shies away from touching them for the better part of a month despite the instructions to rub oil on them once they heal. Sokolov managed to graft him something that look like nipples, but there’s no feeling to them.

The weeks following the surgery are confusing, and his mood grows so dark even Jessamine notices. She is busy with her yearly exams, and thus Corvo is needed a bit less than usual. He spends two weeks grieving what happened, but then his stubbornness gradually starts to return.

It’s done. He can’t go back in time and take it back. He can always hope the scars will fade as they heal, and at least he no longer has to bind. Once Sokolov’s assistant tells him he can discard the medical binder, Corvo feels the first semblance of joy over the whole thing. He no longer has a band crushing his lungs. His chest is ugly, but the two new scars are hardly the only ones he has. 

Time drags on, heedless of his personal problems, and when the Month of Songs rolls in, there is an assassination attempt on Jessamine.

Corvo kills the assassin, a woman from Morley. She stabs him in his thigh before she dies, but Jessamine lives, and Corvo knows he is able to fight with everything he has now. He no longer has to fear that the bindings holding his chest will hinder him. He drags in a huge gulp of air as the noise dies down, and as the woman slumps down onto the floor he feels  _ alive. _

In the ruckus of the tower guard locking down the building and Jessamine frantically putting pressure on his thigh and telling him he’s an idiot for risking his life like that, Corvo realizes he might be happy one day.

***

Jessamine grows up fast. Corvo almost feels like one evening he bids goodnight to a skinny girl, and the next morning her bedroom door is opened by a young woman. Jessamine has never been overly playful, so when she hits puberty and spends one year growing like a weed, the court around her shifts almost perceptibly. That, too, feels like it happens overnight.

Where people once referred to her as “princess,” they now whisper of the future empress. Men and women alike start to gossip about her tastes and preferences. People start speaking to her in more serious tones and Corvo watches her, enraptured by the grace with which she carries the change. 

Jessamine appears to completely skip the awkward stage of puberty Corvo remembers so well. Her wardrobe shifts, the last dresses are discarded by the time she is fifteen, and her hair starts finding its way into complicated updos. Corvo finds he misses the intricate braids, as stupid as it sounds. 

Jessamine grows up beautiful, but what’s more important she grows up intelligent and good-hearted. Anton Sokolov never loses his interest in her, tutoring her every week, eyes gleaming like those of a shark when they argue about topics they disagree on. As Jessamine gets older the number of those increases, and she appears to grow more and more fond of the unkempt and brusque genius.

Corvo still shares his space and time with Jessamine, and only now it starts to dawn on him just how unusual it is for a future ruler to pick a Royal Protector who is not of the same sex; Corvo is expected to be present when she goes to visit her personal physician, when she gets her measurements taken for new clothing, when some noble or another attempts to court her. He looks away, stands back in the shadows, and if it wasn’t for the impish smiles Jessamine throws at him, Corvo would gladly assume he is almost invisible.

The court doesn’t like him, but as the emperor once remarks, Corvo looks intimidating and foreign, and thus is turning out to be an excellent choice for his role. He thwarts a few minor threats that almost befall Jessamine, acquires more scars from those and from careless sparring, and he is almost happy with his lot in life.

Things shift around them. Corvo watches as more and more people start to glance at Jessamine with hopeful eyes. Her seventeenth birthday is an extravagant affair, and Corvo quietly disposes of not one, two, but three young nobles who attempt to get too personal with the crown princess.

As he finishes growling threats to the last one of them, he catches Jessamine’s eye across the ballroom. She is smiling at him, head held high and eyes shining. Corvo’s grip on the front of the noble’s garb grows slack for a second and the young man flees, but he hardly notices.

He looks at Jessamine, whom he has known for five years, whose worries and fears he has listened to during that time, whom he accidentally called  _ Jess _ only last week when they were planning this very evening. Corvo feels the earth tilt, because Jessamine is so beautiful, so carefree for this one evening.

He knows that tomorrow morning they will stand in court, Jessamine most likely nursing a slight hangover from the sparkling pink wine she is drinking. Corvo will watch her back as he always does, but there and then something like an unseen leviathan shifts. Just like that, everything has new colors.

Corvo almost accepts the glass of that sparkling wine when a servant finds him, but then he shakes his head and rejoins Jessamine. She grins at him and his stomach makes an unhealthy swoop at the sight.

“Corvo!” she laughs and takes his arm. “I was wondering whether you had any trouble with poor Edward.”

Corvo inhales the scent of her perfume, and for a short second his head spins.

“None at all, your highness. The young man won’t bother you anymore.”

“Thank you,” Jessamine says with a mischievous smile. “He is usually so reserved, I do wonder just how many glasses of brandy he’d had.”

Corvo rolls his eyes, and the sight makes Jessamine giggle. She muffles it behind her fan and then turns to greet her friends. Corvo steps back and tunes out the conversation. He is not part of Jessamine’s social life. He serves a function, here and always.

It’s just...hard to remember that when the celebrations are over. He ends up joining Jessamine in her quarters, and they share the last third of the wine bottle she stole with her from the party. Corvo laughs at her imitations of uptight nobles, and he makes Jessamine howl with laughter when he recounts the threats he made to the overly familiar ones he kicked out. They share a settee like on so many evenings before, and there’s nothing unusual about the way Jessamine tucks her ice cold toes under Corvo’s thigh, except he keeps seeing all those new colors now.

Fancy, rich nobles court her. She is growing into a wise ruler, into a beautiful woman, and that attracts ambitious young men and women. Jessamine has no shortage of potential partners, even if she has thus far been playing coy with everyone as Corvo and Spymaster Burrows dig through everyone’s background to see whether they could pose a threat.

But Corvo looks at the colors, at the pink riding high on Jessamine’s cheeks, at her gray eyes sparkling with mirth, and it occurs to him that none of them get to see her like this; hair down and laughing, utterly at ease. They don’t know that her toes are always cold, that she secretly loves the color yellow, or that sometimes she wants Corvo to tell her stories about Karnaca, the rowdier the better.

Corvo loses track of what they are talking about as he looks inside himself for the first time in what feels like years. At some point, he has no idea when and how, he has started to—care. He has grown familiar with Jessamine. He never calls her  _ your royal highness  _ when it’s just the two of them. He doesn’t even remember when he stopped doing that. 

At some point he has started to feel something deeper and more meaningful, and the realization scares him.

“Corvo? Is something wrong?”

Corvo shakes himself out of his stupor. When he finally manages to meet Jessamine’s eyes, she frowns, but her smile doesn’t fall.

“You look like you saw a ghost.”

Corvo snorts. He forcibly pushes back the mess he’s just uncovered.

“Were three groping nobles not enough in way of excitement? Now you wish for something paranormal?” he quips, and Jessamine laughs. He gets breathless listening to her.

“Now that you mention it, these balls are actually a little dull,” she says with a grin as she finishes her glass of wine. “As my Royal Protector, I take it you’re also tasked with protecting me from getting bored to death. Maybe I should command you to whisk me away on an adventure.”

Corvo laughs, and the sight appears to please Jessamine. She nudges his thigh with her bare foot.

“It amuses me, everyone assuming you’re deathly serious. I always have half a mind to tell them it’s not true.”

“Please don’t.” Corvo knows he must be grinning like a void-damned fool. “How will I do my job if the nobles don’t fear me?”

Jessamine hums thoughtfully and her smile turns softer. Corvo looks at her, and he knows his own expression shifts, he isn’t quick enough to hide it—

“Maybe I like that,” Jessamine says as she stands up and starts to pick out the last hairpins still lost in her dark hair. “Being the only one who knows.”

***

The Month of Rain begins as its name says. Bleak, thrumming rain swallows Dunwall as if on cue, and Corvo knows it will not let up until the winter passes. He tries to prepare for the long, dark months, but even after more than half a decade in Gristol, it still wears him down.

Jessamine notices this. She knows almost everything about Corvo and his childhood by now, and she is well aware of how the gloomy weather weighs on Corvo’s moods. He doesn’t let it affect his duties, but in private he sometimes lets his mask slip, just a little. He doesn’t mean to, because it’s not Jessamine’s responsibility to cater to him, but she coaxes it out. She somehow manages to show Corvo it’s alright to sometimes feel sad for no reason at all.

The second day of the month dawns so wet and gray that Corvo briefly entertains the thought of just staying in bed. His body feels heavier than usual when he drags himself to breakfast, and Jessamine looks at him like she understands that feeling. The day is one endless court hearing after another, with the crown princess assisting the overseers and the city guard in passing judgement. Corvo stands back, watching the proceedings and making mental notes on the people gathered.

The sky is dark and ominous when they finally step out of the building. Wind grabs Jessamine’s umbrella in the short time they wait for a carriage, and she gives Corvo a weary smile when he dashes into the rain to retrieve it. The ride back to the Tower is quiet, both of them thinking their own thoughts.

Corvo sees Jessamine to her quarters and leaves to clean up for dinner, but when he is buttoning up his shirt there is a knock on the door. Corvo quickly finishes dressing and opens the door.

A young servant boy hands him a note written in familiar, elegant cursive. It’s from Jessamine, informing him that she wishes to dine alone with Corvo.

Corvo stares at the note, trying to understand, but in the end he dresses in his informal clothes and makes his way to Jessamine’s rooms.

The door opens, and Jessamine greets him with a smile.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t feel like looking at a single more noble face tonight.” She lets Corvo in, and he notices she’s dressed down, in a pair of soft cotton trousers and a shirt with flowing sleeves.

“And instead you choose to look at mine,” Corvo says with a faint laugh. Jessamine rolls her eyes.

They eat and talk about the day and nothing in particular. It isn’t exactly uncommon for them to eat together, but usually it’s a snack before bedtime, or breakfast early in the morning before a busy day. Dinners with the princess are a coveted affair, and it isn’t like Jessamine to waste an opportunity to press her policies on one young noble or another. Corvo can’t help enjoying the time, because it’s rare for them to scrap all ties to the court like this. His role in her life is always present, but in moments like these he sometimes wishes he could forget it for a short while.

He realizes he has been quiet for a while when Jessamine looks at him with a faint frown. Corvo meets her gaze, despite feeling like he is staring straight into the sun.

“May I ask you something personal?” Jessamine’s voice is curious, and Corvo has never been of any use guessing just what she will ask when she gets like this.

“Go ahead.” He wipes his mouth and leans back, and then blinks as Jessamine stands up.

“Did you ever consider the fact that you wouldn’t be able to marry if you got picked for this role?”

Corvo freezes. He knows Jessamine can see it, but he is helpless. His brain grinds to an absolute stop, mouth hanging slightly open. In the silence Jessamine steps around the table, until she is standing next to Corvo, until Corvo has to crane his neck to look at her.

_ No, _ he thinks.  _ I didn’t have a choice, back then, and afterwards it just ceased to matter. _

He has not managed to push back the tangle of emotions that runs riot inside him. Corvo looks up at Jessamine, and his heart beats faster, because she is so beautiful. Corvo knows almost everything there is to her, and somewhere along the line he started to  _ want. _

“Not really, no,” he finally says, voice breaking just a little as he averts his gaze. He rubs his neck and feels how hot his skin is. “To be honest, I never expected to marry at all, so—”

Jessamine’s cool hand touches his chin, and Corvo stumbles on the rest of the words he’d been slinging together in hopes that he won’t ruin everything. That one small touch is enough to make him look up again, because their existence is wrought with touches that serve some kind of purpose; this one is new, and it lights up Corvo’s nerves. 

Jessamine looks at him with a smile, and Corvo knows he is blushing. He feels almost dizzy, and right then Jessamine cups his cheeks properly. There is nothing hesitant about her touch, but Corvo knows he is gripping the edges of his seat. He wants to reach back, but he is terrified.

“It would be a shame if you never married,” Jessamine murmurs almost teasingly, and then she leans down and kisses him.

A soft, startled noise escapes Corvo’s throat, and he doesn’t mean to kiss back, he doesn’t. But Jessamine is so close, and her lips are soft and taste of pomegranates, and for a few short seconds Corvo forgets why this is a terrible idea; his breath hitches as he reaches a shaking hand into Jessamine’s hair, and he kisses back.

He doesn’t know how long it lasts, but finally his brain wakes up from the petrified stupor. Corvo pulls back and tries to be gentle as he does, but Jessamine’s eyes fly open and she looks knowing. Like she’s perfectly aware of what Corvo will say next.

Corvo stands up and walks to the window. He licks his lips, tries to make his hands to stop shaking, and doesn’t turn around when Jessamine joins him a moment later. They watch the storm as it rolls across the Wrenhaven, until Jessamine steps closer and leans her head on his shoulder. At some point they have both reached their adult heights, and the crown of her head reaches Corvo’s cheekbone.

“I guess now is the time when you tell me this is a bad idea, and that your duty is to the crown,” Jessamine says right when Corvo opens his mouth. He clicks it shut and feels himself blush even more. Jessamine chuckles as she takes his hand.

“I’m not acting on a whim,” she says quietly. “I’ve come to care a great deal about you, Corvo.”

Corvo looks at the thunderclouds, their black underbellies almost dragging the surface of the sea on the horizon. Suddenly he feels very alone again.

“I...can’t say the feeling isn’t mutual,” he says very quietly. It’s no use to lie, he knows Jessamine has seen through him. She wouldn’t have acted otherwise, kind and observant as she is.

“But?” she prompts him when he doesn’t continue.

Corvo swallows. He doesn’t know where to begin. He doesn’t know how to put into words the crawling terror he feels when he thinks of the slightest possibility of allowing this to develop into something deeper. He has never felt like this before, simply because  _ before _ his mind was occupied with survival. 

Corvo still doesn’t know what made young Jessamine pick him as her Royal Protector, but he knows he owes his whole life to her. He wouldn’t have lasted in the tower guard much longer, either by his own design or by his hateful superiors. Jessamine’s actions gave Corvo access to serum, gave him a life. Had he not ended up here, he’d most likely be dead.

And now Jessamine is looking at Corvo with a smile that only reaches her eyes and makes them crinkle at the corners, and Corvo is so helplessly drawn to her he fears his heart might burst.

Jessamine looks at him for a long time, and then she appears to find what she has been looking for. She steps closer and hooks a hand behind Corvo’s head, and he isn’t strong enough; he kisses her, wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her close, and it’s too much, it’s perfect. Jessamine gives a breathy laugh against his lips, and Corvo loves the shape of that sound. 

It’s his first kiss, he realizes belatedly. He’s twenty five, and he has never been kissed before. Corvo is almost certain it’s not the first one for Jessamine, but it doesn’t matter. She is choosing him right now, and that’s more than enough. It’s more than Corvo ever imagined possible.

***

The moment Corvo has been dreading comes almost a full year later.

He and Jessamine, they are—something without a definite name. Corvo tries to hold back, but every time Jessamine reaches for him, he yields. Her kisses are sweeter than anything, her touch makes his head swim, and it is terrifying and the most precious thing he can fathom.

Corvo tells Jessamine he doesn’t expect anything, and Jessamine rolls her eyes at him. She tells him she isn’t some foolish girl; she can make up her own mind. It’s true, and Corvo knows that. 

Nobles keep courting Jessamine, and at times she lets them have her for a while. Corvo knows he should feel jealous, but in truth he is relieved; it gives him time. Jessamine always comes back to him in the end, but her short courtships ensure that Corvo doesn’t run away. He doesn’t know how and when he will tell Jessamine his secret. He knows it will come out at some point, and the prospect of losing her is almost as terrifying as loving her.

He is in love. 

And then, before he manages to think of anything, it happens. It’s his birthday, of all days: somehow Jessamine had finally fished that information out of him. They have dinner, and then sit and talk until the candles burn out and the room grows dark, and then Jessamine kisses him, and this time she doesn’t stop.

Corvo loses track of time, feeling her, and his breath leaves his chest when suddenly Jessamine crawls closer and straddles his lap, moist breaths ghosting over his jaw as she presses kisses there. Corvo feels her breasts press against his chest, knows his hands are alighting on her waist and drawing her close, and then—

“Jess, wait.”

Jessamine immediately pulls back, but only enough to look him in the eye. Corvo’s throat closes up, because she is the most beautiful person he has ever seen. Her hair is a mess, cascading over her shoulders, her cheeks are pink and lips well-kissed.

“Corvo,” she murmurs with a smile. Her hips make the slightest movement, and Corvo feels like he is falling. He is leaking, so turned on by the closeness, but at the same time he dreads what happens if they go any further than this.

Corvo is familiar with his body. He has spent hours exploring himself, and for some reason his intimates never elicited that same scrabbling disgust as his chest. Corvo knows he looks different, but he knows all the ways stroking his cock feels amazing, how wet and slick he can get when he truly yields to the pleasure; it’s his body, and he can’t bring himself to hate it anymore. 

The thought of Jess looking at him like he is a freak shatters him.

“Maybe we shouldn’t.” Corvo doesn’t want to say those words. He wants to have Jessamine, give her all the pleasure he is able to provide, but… He is afraid.

Suddenly Jessamine’s eyes clear. She looks at Corvo for a long while, and then kisses him softly. Corvo can’t help returning the kiss, but he is preparing to make his excuses, like a few times before. The thrum of arousal in his blood feels almost blistering.

“Corvo, I know,” Jessamine whispers against his lips. Corvo freezes.

Jessamine cups his cheeks and doesn’t let him look away. Her eyes are simultaneously serious and gentle.

“I have known for years,” she says quietly. Corvo tries to pull away, but she doesn’t let him go.

“Who told you?” he finally asks. His voice breaks a little, and he averts his gaze.

“Nobody,” Jessamine says. Her fingers climb into his hair, ghost over his jaw, and Corvo closes his eyes. His chest is hurting, an ache nestled in the fragile cage of his ribs.

“I have seen you sparring without a shirt on, and then I started noticing other things,” Jessamine continues. Her fingers keeps moving, as if she is drawing the outline of Corvo. “And I kept silent, because I wanted you to tell me about it.”

“I’m sorry,” Corvo finally says. He makes himself open his eyes and face Jess. “I didn’t think it would ever come out.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Jessamine actually frowns, throws Corvo off-balance yet again. “It’s who you are. A relative of mine has a girl, just thirteen years of age, and she is like you.”

Corvo doesn’t know what to say. He stays quiet until Jessamine leans closer again.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Jess says. She finally smiles again. “I wanted to give you more time, but…” She trails off, looking mischievous, and Corvo’s fear finally begins to thaw. Very carefully he places his hands on Jessamine’s waist again, and the way she leans into his touch feels right.

“I have imagined all sorts of things I want to do with you,” she whispers into his ear, and Corvo shudders. Her hips move in a sinuous roll, and Corvo can’t help the breath that stutters out. His hands start to move again, finally touching with the intention of truly feeling, and Jess gasps a laugh when his fingers start to tease her thighs.

Corvo doesn’t know what to expect. He waits for something bad to happen, but Jessamine strips off his shirt and bites at his neck, and his hands have somehow drifted under her shirt, and when he runs his thumb over her nipples she sighs. Corvo feels how hot and slick he is getting inside his pants, and he listens to the way his and Jess’ breaths start to come quicker.

“Please, Corvo,” Jess finally gasps, when Corvo’s hands slide between her still-clothed thighs. “Stop me if I do something you don’t like, but—”

Corvo kisses her, and then he scrambles up while supporting Jess. She laughs and wraps her legs around his waist, blowing hot breaths against his ear. He lays her down on the bed, and carefully crawls on top of her. They kiss, but then Corvo breaks away and starts trailing his lips along her jaw, down her neck and exposed collarbones. Jess squirms beneath him as she buries her fingers into his hair, and when Corvo unbuttons her shirt she arches her back and unhooks her bralette in one deft movement.

Her breasts are round and white, and Corvo must visibly swallow because Jess laughs in a husky voice and pulls his face closer. Corvo rolls his tongue around one nipple, bites it very gently, and Jess whimpers, her hips trying to roll up against his thigh. He slides his hands lower and between her legs, and void, she is so wet. Corvo moans softly, his mouth still occupied with teasing her nipple.

Jess starts to rock her hips against his thigh, and Corvo tries to hang onto his coherence. He wants to make Jess come, make her feel good, because he is once again in a situation he didn’t ever imagine could be real. When they lock eyes his heart throbs, because Jess smiles at him as her fingers tug at his belt.

“Do you want to take these off?” she asks. It’s so considerate, the way she waits for Corvo’s nod before unbuckling his belt and sliding his trousers down. She keeps smiling, the playfulness returning when Corvo reciprocates and slips her pants and underwear off.

Corvo has always worried that if he were to have sex, his partner would think him a woman simply because his downstairs anatomy doesn’t match that of most men. He knows he is a guy, in his bones and spirit, and when he and Jess fall into each other he finally lets that worry go; Jessamine’s pale, softly curved body against his makes something settle into place. Corvo swallows back tears because it feels so right, Jess makes him feel so good about himself.

“Void,” she gasps when they finally come up for air, both lying on their sides and pressed so close to each other they are melting together. “I always knew you were handsome, but…” Her eyes shine with warmth.

Corvo kisses her, and when his fingers draw a curve along her thigh Jess bites back a curse.

“Language, your highness,” Corvo murmurs, and Jessamine tries to glare at him, but his fingers find their target just then; Jessamine’s legs part for him, a frantic breath ghosting over Corvo’s lips. She’s wet and slick, thighs soaked with it. Corvo runs his fingers up and down, until Jessamine grabs his wrist and bites his lip.

“Stop teasing, you wretch,” she moans, and Corvo laughs, nearly delirious with want and love. He eases a finger into her and she rocks against it, moaning softly. Corvo knows she has done this before, and lets her set the pace. He fucks her with a finger and then with two, thumb brushing against her clit when he can twist his hand around to reach it. 

Jessamine is always beautiful, but right then she looks like something otherworldly. She clings to him, panting and wrecked as Corvo feels her coming apart, biting her lip and kissing him with bruising force. Corvo feels how tight she is, how her thighs tremble, and it is the most arousing thing he has ever experienced.

“Corvo, please—” Jessamine gasps as her body draws tighter, like a bowstring. Her nails dig into Corvo’s bicep, one hand fisted in his hair as he fucks his fingers deeper, twisting them to reach that sweet spot he knows she has. 

Jess’ eyes fly open, and then her mouth opens in a soft, high keen as Corvo feels her start to pulse, shaking apart as she comes. Her back arches, her thighs tremble, and Corvo knows he did this, he made his lovely, gorgeous Jess plummet into that bliss.

Jess falls slack as the spasm finally cease, but her whole body keeps shivering. Corvo hugs her closer, and he smiles. Jess smells of lilies and sex, and she fits perfectly into his arms. Corvo knows he will do anything to keep her safe, now and forever. He doesn’t know what to do with all the love he feels right then, so he settles for pressing soft kisses into Jess’ hair as she catches her breath.

“You are amazing,” Jess whispers. She looks up, and Outsider’s eyes but she is beautiful; flushed and sweaty, looking at Corvo like he is her whole world. “When you are here, my heart is at peace,” she adds, kissing him.

Corvo almost misses it, but then he feels Jessamine’s delicate hand sneak down his flank. They keep kissing, and he doesn’t know what to expect. He doesn’t really expect anything, but then Jess’ fingers are stroking his thigh, fingernails playfully scratching, and Corvo realizes how hard and slick he is; his own pleasure was a side note, but now Jess is looking at him with a bright, curious smile, and it’s too easy to fall open for her.

“Jess,” Corvo says, and then her fingers are there, and he loses the rest. Jess’ smile outshines the sun.

“Void,” she murmurs. Her thumb runs down his cock, and he sees her bite her lip, twisting to look at what she’s doing. Corvo has half a mind to feel embarrassed, but then there are fingers teasing him open and he moans, hips twitching, and Jessamine’s lips are ghosting down his chest. Corvo forgets his words, forgets everything that isn’t Jess touching him, fingers laying claim to him and treating him like he is precious and loved.

***

Corvo never says he loves Jess, but he thinks it must be obvious to her; aside from his function as her Royal Protector, he is devoted to her. The two years they spend as lovers are some of the happiest times in his life.

Then, in the year 1925, 19th day of the Month of Darkness, Emperor Euhorn Jacob Kaldwin dies.

Corvo has to watch Jessamine grieve for her father, but what’s more, become empress much earlier than expected. She is twenty, and Corvo holds her as she chokes and sobs in the evening before the funeral.

Jess is twenty, and she feels lost without her father. Corvo holds her, sleeps next to her even though both of them know it’s not safe. But when Empress Jessamine Kaldwin the first is crowned in less than two weeks after this, she looks proud and holds her head high. Corvo stands in the shadows, and his heart almost bursts with how much he loves Jess.

Jessamine greets her subjects. Corvo watches as the new role settles into the air around her, and in that moment he feels a fissure form between them. It’s something unstoppable, he thinks. They have never been equals, but up until now they have elected to ignore that when they act like lovers. Now Jessamine rules over the Empire of the Isles, and Corvo’s task is to keep her safe. Keep her alive, so her nation might prosper. 

Anything he feels for her must come second.

Jess...doesn’t agree. They don’t argue, they need each other too much to risk that, but Corvo senses that new distance in the air between them. Jessamine’s duties have always been demanding, but now they’re something altogether different. She is the single most important person in Corvo’s life, but she is that to millions of people around the Isles, in a scale he can’t fully understand.

Corvo feels guilty about his love, because he knows Jess has noble men and women who try to court her. 

Jess tries to argue against his decision to give her space, but Corvo doesn’t want her to commit to a bodyguard when she could just as well find love and happiness elsewhere; were Jessamine to marry a noble of sufficiently high standing, she wouldn’t have to hide. 

Jessamine cries when Corvo explains this to her. They talk about the matter of succession, how Corvo could never get her pregnant anyway, and that they can return to each other if…

Corvo doesn’t want to think about it. He throws himself to his work, but that isn’t enough to drown out the sheer jealousy he feels when someone catches Jess’ eye. There are times he wants to quit, but then he thinks about entrusting Jessamine’s safety to someone else. Leaving is never an option.

Corvo doesn’t know how it happens, in the end. Towards the end of that year he suddenly notices Jessamine is nauseous in the mornings. Her moods come and go like spring storms, and right before the Fugue Feast she pulls Corvo into her rooms and whispers it to him.

She is pregnant.

Corvo feels like he falls, head humming so loud he can hardly hear what Jess says for a second. Then it finally reaches him; she doesn’t know who is the father.

She doesn’t detail her relations, and Corvo doesn’t really care. They have a potential scandal in their hands, and finding solutions is his job. Jessamine’s future is threatened, and he needs to make sure nothing bad happens. To her, or to the unborn child she decides to keep.

It is Anton Sokolov who finally proposes a solution.

“The birth of this child will happen sometime in the autumn,” the Royal Physician tells Jessamine once he is finished with the examination. Corvo is still leery of the inventor, but Sokolov cares about Jessamine, he truly does. 

Jessamine sits up and smooths down her tunic. Up until now her newly acquired taste for loose-fitting clothing has been passed off as the latest trend, but very soon it will be impossible to hide. She runs a hand over her belly, and Corvo sees the expression of fiery gentleness that passes over her face. 

“I will give birth in the Tower hospital,” Jessamine tells Sokolov, who nods. 

“Your majesty,” the man begins, and when Jessamine’s eyes flash he nods, as if admitting beforehand that the following topic will likely anger her. “There is still the matter of the father to consider.”

“I will not start a hunt to find him,” Jessamine says very quietly. Corvo wonders, briefly, whether Jessamine doesn’t find him a suitable husband, or if there is something else preventing this.

“So you’ve said.” Sokolov’s eyes turn to Corvo. “But the court is, ah, somewhat knowledgeable of your relations to Lord Attano.” Corvo blinks, and then Jessamine turns to look at him, sudden and raw hope written all over her face. 

Corvo has been hurting ever since he told her they could not be together. He is just as much in love with Jess as he used to be. He misses holding her, sleeping with her, talking with her while they lay in bed together. He misses kissing her, telling her how beautiful she is.

Sokolov bows out of the room with a murmured “your majesty.”

Jess stands up and crosses to where Corvo stands frozen. Her hands are cold as she cups his cheeks, and her eyes are suddenly wet.

“I need you,” she whispers. Her lip trembles, just a little. “I want you.”

And Corvo yields. He falls back into her arms, catches Jessamine in a kiss that bleeds into another, and another, throat closing up because he is so fucking relieved.

“I love you,” he finally murmurs, and a few tears escape Jess’ eyes. They run down her cheeks and vanish into her hair, which is spread all over her pillow by that point.

“And I you,” Jess says, the last word muffled into a gasp as Corvo presses his fingers into her. He goes slow, spellstruck by how Jessamine’s body has changed in just a few short months. He knows Sokolov will start spreading the rumor that Jessamine is carrying his child, and the thought feels like a leviathan, entirely too big to fully grasp.

“Fuck me,” Jess whispers. She bites her lip and grins at him, and then reaches into her drawer to pull out the harness. Corvo doesn’t know where she acquired it from, but it is yet another thing Jessamine has given him, one small thing for him to do things he never even dreamed of.

He keeps it slow, mindful of the way Jessamine’s pregnancy is just starting to show, and she pulls him in with a relieved gasp. The harness is custom built for him, and it rubs him as he fucks her. For a long time the only sounds are their urgent breaths and the wet sounds of sex.

“Will you stay?” Jessamine asks when her climax creeps closer and closer. Her eyes go wide and pleading, and Corvo knows she must be terrified; of the future, of motherhood, everything. “Will you stay with me?”

“Always,” he says, kissing her just as she tips over and comes with a sharp gasp and a low moan, and as Corvo watches her unravel, he knows he means it. He will never leave Jess.

After she catches her breath, Jessamine crawls practically on top of him. Corvo murmurs a question, asking whether she thinks that pinning him down will keep him put, and she only pinches his side with a weary laugh. Corvo smiles, and his heart gradually stops hurting as they lie together in silence, like so many times before.

“About what Anton said,” Jessamine suddenly says. She turns to look him in the eye. “Are you prepared to live that lie?”

Corvo chuckles. “My whole life is a lie, if you ask the Abbey.”

“Fuck the Abbey,” Jess pronounces with remarkable conviction. “I mean the child.”

“What about that?” Suddenly Corvo is unsure what they are talking about.

Jess smiles. “I want her to think of you as her father. You may not be related by blood, but…” she trails off and watches him with a smile.

Corvo thought he’d protect the child. He’d be a shadowy figure in their life, the man who keeps them and their mother safe. What Jess is offering is so much more than that.

He never, ever thought he’d have children. He knows that since he doesn’t bleed he can’t conceive or carry a child, and the thought of going through a pregnancy is unimaginable anyway. He can’t get a woman pregnant either. 

And now Jessamine is opening a new door for him, yet again. She will give birth to a child in less than six months, and she wants Corvo to be a father.

She must see how overwhelmed he is, because she leans down and presses a kiss to his lips. “There is no one else I’d rather have as the father of my daughter.”

“Daughter?” Corvo asks. His senses start to return, and he raises an eyebrow.

Jess just looks smug. “I have a feeling."


End file.
